


Pro Bono

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Birthday, Concussions, Drunken Kissing, Dubcon Kissing, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 07:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2764190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve gives Bucky his birthday present. Anything he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pro Bono

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Pro Bono](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3485777) by [Sebattini (blueaway)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueaway/pseuds/Sebattini)



'Ouch, christ,' Bucky mutters, looking like he's about to throw up. He's white as a sheet; if there's any blood in his body, it's pooled at his toes so that he's weighted all wrong, swaying as he tries to push himself up the stairs to their apartment. Steve bites his lip as he hovers beside him, one hand on his elbow just in case Bucky blacks out or something and Steve has to… Well, he's not really sure what he'd do. It's not like he can catch him all that easily. Probably just take a tumble down the stairs right along with him, in all honesty.

'C'mon Buck, we're nearly there, you're all good,' he just says, encouraging. The truth is, though, is Bucky is really _not_ looking all that good. He’s got a gash on his head that’s not quite big enough or bleeding enough to warrant going to the hospital or getting it stitched up or nothing – but he’s still got a small trickle of blood down his temple, drying now, and his forehead has all swollen up. In the morning it looks like it’ll be a little mottled patchwork of purple and yellow, most likely. Steve couldn’t feel more guilty right now.

They stumble together up the last few steps onto their landing, and Bucky lets out a long, shaky breath. His hand goes clumsily into his pocket, trying to fish out his keys. ‘Get the door, yeah?’ he says to Steve, holding them out and rubbing one hand across his slightly unfocused eyes.

'Yeah,' Steve replies. 'Yeah, of course.' And then, probably for the third or fourth time, slightly slurred: 'I'm sorry. Really.'

Bucky nods, and then cringes as if it hurt him. With a creak, the door swings open, and Steve turns the lights on, making room for Bucky to get inside. ‘I know, pal. It’s fine, I just…’ Blinking at the light in the room, Bucky scrunches up his face, turning his gaze away. ‘Wanna get to bed.’

Frowning, Steve tugs awkwardly at his sleeves, trying to get out of his oversized coat. It shouldn’t be an effort, not really – but he’s not quite sober, and neither is Bucky. In truth, he hasn’t drunk much at all, but it always hits him hard, which is why he doesn’t usually drink all that much. But it’s Bucky’s _birthday_ , exceptions get to be made.

'How's bein' twenty?' he asks, and Bucky just glares at him, not even bothering to take off his jacket, and staggers across the room to flop down onto the couch and close his eyes. Steve's mouth tightens more. He shouldn't be sleeping, not if his heads all knocked about.

'I could take it or leave it, really,' mumbles Bucky. His hand comes up to scrape through his hair, tugging it away from his face, and his eyes blink groggily open. Good, Steve thinks. He knows he can't fall asleep either. Bucky ain't an idiot. Steve might be, though, for picking a fight on his best friend's birthday.

For once, he is lucky, he supposes. Hasn’t got so much as a black eye. But he’d definitely take a few blows to the face if it meant not ruining Bucky’s birthday like this.

'You ain't going to sleep,' Steve tells him, wandering over once his slightly damp jacket is hung up on the hook by the door. If nothing else, it feels good to be inside, back home. Like the city outside where it's raining and Bucky's blood is marked on the pavement in the back alley behind that bar and on some knucklehead's fist can go shove itself.

'No, no I ain't,' Bucky mumbles, sounding like he's dozing off. 'Now where is it?'

Climbing onto the couch next to him, Steve leans his head against the back cushion, turning his body to watch Bucky. He’s gotta watch Bucky, make sure he stays awake and keeps talking. ‘Where is what?’

The moonlight coming through the window is all very nice, lighting up Bucky’s pale face with soft blue-white light and dark shadows that shift as the corner of his mouth quirks up. ‘Don’t hold out on me, buddy,’ he says, eyes still closed. ‘You didn’t give it to me this morning, figured you were waiting till we got home. C’mon.’

'Oh,' Steve says, guilt squirming even deeper in his stomach. He hasn't been working much lately, not more than a couple of days a week selling the newspapers, and that's enough to get his rent and some food, and pretty much nothing else. That's always been fine though – he and Bucky, they don't always do birthday presents. Or Christmas presents. Usually it's enough if they go out to celebrate, or stay in and eat whatever they can scrape together. Sometimes Bucky's been known to pass a soda stand on Steve's birthday, buy a cola, and shove it into Steve's hands with a grin and a _'Happy Birthday, pal!'_ That, or Steve has gotten out his sketchbook before Bucky has gotten out of bed and quickly drawn something best suited to an eight pager, the way Bucky likes, and woken him up by tearing the blankets off his bed and shoving the ripped out bit of paper onto Bucky’s chest before he can grumble about being woken up.

Steve hasn’t been able to afford a new sketchbook for a while, or pencils for that matter, so that was out the window.

'Sorry, Buck,' he mutters. 'I didn't…'

But Bucky is grinning, letting out a soft, dry laugh. ‘I’m teasin’,’ he replies, creaking one eye open to peek at Steve. ‘Didn’t expect nothing. Although I gotta say, after all this…’ He gestures to his beat up face with a hand that Steve is just noticing is all scraped up and swelling too. ‘I do think I deserve something special.’

Steve smiles tightly, feeling too crap about getting Bucky hurt to be properly amused. In a couple of months they’ll look back on this and laugh. For now, he just feels like a shitty friend. ‘Anything you want,’ he says sincerely, even if he has no means to fulfill the promise.

'Anything I want?'

'Yeah.' Shifting around so that his arm is resting on the back of the couch, Steve props his cheek on his own hand. 'You wanna go to Spain, Bucky? We can do that.'

'Spain, huh?'

'Or Paris, or India,' Steve offers. 'Anywhere.'

'How 'bout the Grand Canyon?' Bucky asks. He's still watching Steve with one bleary, half lidded eye and a half cocked smile. He's slumped real deep into the tattered couch cushions, but that's okay.

'Uh huh, of course.' The room is swimming just a little bit, like the rocking of a ship on gentle waves. 'And we'll stay in first rate hotels along the way, okay? Places where we get waited on hand and foot, yeah?'

'Sounds nice, Stevie.' Bucky licks his lips. 'How we gonna afford this?'

'Not we,' Steve corrects. 'Me. 'S your birthday, you don't have to pay for a thing.'

'That's awful nice of you.'

'Might be a while till I can give it to you though,' he admits, one finger coming into his mouth. Steve chews on his nail, letting himself watch the soft light playing on Bucky's features, the way he yawns and flinches slightly at the pain.

'You don't have'ta get me none of those things,' he murmurs. 'Nothing special.'

'Well, I wanna give you something special,' Steve replies. It's pleasantly quiet in here, in their rooms – just the muffled noise of traffic outside and the soft hum of a radiator in the flat above. Steve's voice cracks a little bit as he speaks for just the two of them, low and quiet. 'I feel awful, Buck. You were having a nice night, and I had to go and ruin it with—'

'With fixing up some guy who was askin' for it,' Bucky interjects. 'Don't you worry.'

'You'd found a nice gal to chat with, and I went and—'

'Had I really? She can't have been all that nice, I've forgotten already.'

'Don't bullshit me, Barnes.'

Bucky grins. ‘Maybe it’s the concussion,’ he reasons. ‘Lost my memory.’

'Bucky,' Steve says warningly.

Shifting a little bit on the couch so that he’s facing Steve more, both eyes open now and almost, _almost_ focusing on his face, Bucky shrugs. ‘She _was_ pretty, wasn’t she?’

'Real pretty.'

'Ah well.'

The room sways some more as Steve settles deeper into the couch. The more he relaxes, the more it feels like everything is shifting around him, the guilt eating at him, but the drink making everything feel soft and distant at the same time. ‘Sure you don’t want anything to make up for it?’ he asks.

Bucky is quiet for a long moment – long enough that Steve reaches out a hand to poke him in the arm to make sure he hasn’t fallen asleep. ‘I’m drunk,’ Bucky says. ‘And my brain’s gotten all rattled like scrambled eggs.’

'It's not that bad,' Steve interrupts. 'Maybe an omelet.'

'Like an omelet then. But a messy one, like the ones you make.'

'You like my omelets.'

'I do,' Bucky agrees. 'I like you a whole lot.'

Steve looks down and smiles, picks at a loose strand on the antimacassar hung over the back of the couch. ‘Shut up,’ he mutters.

But Bucky keeps talking, loose and easy like only a concussion and several glasses of mediocre whiskey can do. ‘Nah, because I’m gonna ask for my birthday present.’ He pauses for a second, and Steve can hear him swallowing. ‘You don’t have to give it to me though.’

'Sure,' Steve says. 'What is it?'

'You're drunk too, right?' Bucky asks, and Steve nods, snorting out a laugh from his nose. 'Good. Because I want a kiss for my birthday.'

'You want a what,' Steve says, and Bucky just shrugs, like he said he was gonna go get a glass of whatever or that they should do the shopping or something. The most regular thing in the world.

He says, ‘You heard,’ and Steve has to nod, because he did.

'From…?'

'From you, punk.' With a loose moment, Bucky reaches out to take Steve's tie in his hand and tug at it just gently, like a hint. 'I told you I wanted something special.'

'Is this because I messed up your chance with that dame at the bar?'

The air between them has suddenly gone chilled – Steve can feel his skin pricking up as nerves shiver down his spine, because… well, because it’s not like he’s never thought about it. Hastily tucked away thoughts that he swallows down the moment they crop up because Bucky is his _best friend_.

Bucky just shakes his head, tugs on the tie again. ‘Will you give me my present?’

Steve doesn’t answer, not properly. He just licks his dry lips and tries to shuffle up onto his knees without stumbling too much like a drunken light-weight. Half manages it, too. Bucky’s other hand comes out onto his side to steady him, to help guide him in closer, and Steve’s heart is pulsing in his throat, fluttering nervously.

He tries to make the kiss chaste and brief, mainly since he doesn’t want to be too presumptuous with what Bucky might want, even if he’s the one who asked for it. But they’re both drowsy and drunk enough that it just comes out sloppy and kind of unexpectedly deep anyway, and before he knows it, Steve has one hand on Bucky’s cheek that’s rough with five o’clock shadow, and he’s trying to support himself on the back of the couch so that he doesn’t just stumble forward and maybe onto Bucky’s lap – so that he doesn’t just kiss him harder.

They pull apart after a few moments, and Bucky smiles, eyes closed. ‘That’s nice, Stevie,’ he murmurs. ‘Thanks. Real thoughtful.’

Steve laughs. ‘Don’t expect it every year.’

Bucky is quiet for a moment, pulling his lower lip into his mouth as if to suck the taste of Steve off it. Then he yawns. ‘I’m going to go to sleep now,’ he says.

'You really shouldn't…'

Bucky is still holding Steve’s tie, and he uses that hand to slide it up the strip of fabric and pat at Steve’s cheek in an affectionate gesture. ‘I’m fine,’ he says. ‘I’ll be fine.’

And he is.

In the morning, Steve makes him an omelet and a cup of coffee, and puts it down on the table in front of Bucky, who’s still blinking blearily, groggy and beat up. ‘This is your birthday present,’ he tells him.

Bucky picks up his fork. ‘What was last night, then?’ he asks.

Steve just shrugs, sliding into the other chair and sipping at his own coffee. He can’t eat yet himself, feeling too sick with hangover. He wasn’t even sure Bucky was going to remember, but he smirks and says, ‘Pro bono.’


End file.
